


Less Than the Cloud to the Wind

by skimmingthesurface



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: 16th birthday, Bad Parenting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 23:05:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3627651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There was still no sign of his brother’s mysterious dad. He’d never seen the man before, so he couldn’t help but be curious and a little bit excited to see just who Mort Palmer really was. Would he arrive wearing a suit, clutching a briefcase, with slicked back hair and secret service sunglasses? Or would he be a hunchback, with a snaggle-tooth smile and a receding hairline? Or would lighting split the sky the second he arrived, his hair frazzled like a mad scientist, with an eye patch and a mustache befitting Snidely Whiplash, Dudley Do-Right of the Royal Canadian Mounties’s sworn enemy?"</p>
<p>In which Greg meets his brother's biological father for the first time and things don't go as planned, though that's not entirely a surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Less Than the Cloud to the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> "Less than the cloud to the wind,  
> Less than the foam to the sea,  
> Less than the rose to the storm,  
> Am I to thee.
> 
> More than the star to the night,  
> More than the rain to the tree,  
> More than heaven to earth  
> Art thou to me."
> 
> \- "Less Than the Cloud to the Wind" by Sara Teasdale

“Mom, do I have to go?”

Wirt’s whine was muffled by the couch – or possibly the chair, but Greg was pretty sure if he turned around he’d see his older brother spread out, face down on the couch like a broken marionette. His weirdly growing limbs certainly made him look like a marionette, in any case. From his perch at the front window, Greg listened as their mom clucked at his brother, while keeping his gaze rooted on the street outside their house.

“You already agreed to go, Wirt. You can’t back out now. Greg, stop staring out the window,” she interjected briefly, then returned to the subject of Wirt’s sorrows with a sigh. “Sweetheart, it’s only for a few days.”

“Six days,” Wirt grumbled.

“Six days,” their mom repeated, then added: “In _Paris_. I’m jealous, Wirt. It’s not every day you get to spend a week in France. Your dad may not do many things right, but he certainly knows how to make a statement. Gregory, I’m not going to tell you again, get away from the window.”

Greg glanced back over his shoulder, offering her the sweetest, candy-coated smile he could manage. She raised an eyebrow and watched him until he sidestepped away from the window. When she was satisfied, she turned to face Wirt – who was face down on the couch just as Greg predicted. He knew his big brother’s pouting habits well, even if Wirt would never admit to pouting. While she wasn’t looking, Greg hurried back to the window and pressed his face to it.

There was still no sign of his brother’s mysterious dad. He’d never seen the man before, so he couldn’t help but be curious and a little bit excited to see just who Mort Palmer really was. Would he arrive wearing a suit, clutching a briefcase, with slicked back hair and secret service sunglasses? Or would he be a hunchback, with a snaggle-tooth smile and a receding hairline? Or would lighting split the sky the second he arrived, his hair frazzled like a mad scientist, with an eye patch and a mustache befitting Snidely Whiplash, Dudley Do-Right of the Royal Canadian Mounties’s sworn enemy?

_Ribbit_. Greg looked away from the window, his palms still pressed against the glass to brace himself as he turned his attention to Jason Funderburker. The frog blinked up at him, unimpressed with his spying.

“It’s not spying if there’s no one to spy on,” he whispered to him, scooping him up so he could see out the window. “See? I’m just admiring the driveway. There’s nothing wrong with admiring driveways.”

Jason Funderburker croaked quietly, so Greg took that as his agreement. He placed the frog on top of his head, or on top of his tea kettle to be more precise, and returned to “admiring the driveway.” He didn’t get so lost in thought this time, listening to Wirt and their mom continue their conversation.

“I didn’t ask for a statement, Mom. I just asked if I could see him. I thought we could have dinner or something. Something normal.” Wirt’s voice was clearer now, so he must have sat up.

“I know. I know it’s hard to wrap your head around this. You’re going from zero to sixty and I know that scares you, but think of it like an adventure. Your Hero’s Journey,” their mom replied, sounding fairly optimistic.

Greg snorted at the same time Wirt did, thinking exactly what his brother put into words. “I’ve already had a Hero’s Journey, and I’m not exactly hankering to have another just yet.”

Well, maybe Greg didn’t think that exactly, but he agreed that they’d already had a Hero’s Journey. While it had already been ten months since their adventure in The Unknown on that Halloween night, sometimes it still felt like only yesterday he and his brother and Beatrice were wandering through the woods. He knew Wirt felt the same, even if he didn’t talk about it very much anymore. He wrote a lot of poems about it though, and Greg read every single one he could get his hands on, even if he wasn’t supposed to.

He didn’t know why. It wasn’t like he understood half the words Wirt used in his poems anyway. He really didn’t see what the big deal was about him reading them.

“I don’t think I’d call what happened on Halloween your Hero’s Journey,” their mom continued and Greg glanced back at the two of them in time to see her lean down to press a kiss to the top of Wirt’s head. “You were certainly a hero though. There’s no doubt about that. And if you can pull your little brother and your frog out of a freezing lake after tumbling down a hill, I think you can put up with your dad for a week. A week that is all about celebrating your sixteenth birthday. In Paris.” She placed her hands on his cheeks and squeezed. “Just try to relax and have a bit of fun with it, okay?”

Wirt huffed quietly with amusement. “Yeah, okay. I’ll try.”

“Thank you, that’s all I ask.” She smiled at him, then let go of him to go back to tidying up the living room even though it was already pretty clean from what Greg could see. “I want you to have a good time.”

“I want to have a good time, too,” he replied, getting to his feet so he could pace. “And I mean, I am excited about Paris. I’ve already planned out everything I want to check out while we’re there and a part of me still can’t really believe I’m going. I just-” He ran his fingers through his hair as he paused and sighed. “I just don’t want to go with him. _Ugh_. Why did I say yes?”

Greg’s mood dropped a few degrees shy of happy as he watched his brother slump against the wall, stress radiating off of him in waves. It tensed his shoulders and made him hide his face in his hands. Greg’s gaze flicked between the window and Wirt a few times before he took several steps towards him. He set Jason Funderburker down, then pointed at Wirt with a firm nod so their frog would go to him.

He did, he was always a good listener when it came to Wirt, and their lucky frog hopped right up him and croaked until he caught Wirt’s attention. Greg smiled and waved when his brother glanced over at him, pleased when the eye roll that followed was more amused than anything. His older brother picked up the frog and walked over to him, placing him back on top of the kettle.

“Hey!” Greg giggled when Wirt flicked him on the forehead.

“Thanks, Greg,” he told him, even if his actions didn’t exactly spell out “gratitude” Greg could still tell.

He gave him a thumbs up. “No problem, brother o’ mine. You can always count on me to turn your frown upside-down.”

Wirt managed to smile a little before his gaze shifted to the window and worry lines creased his brow. Greg followed where he was looking, a little part of him hoping that there’d be a car parked in front of their house so he could finally see Wirt’s dad for the first time ever, but another part of him, a bigger part surprisingly, hoped the street would still be empty to give his brother more time to relax and cheer up. Both brothers breathed a sigh of relief when they didn’t see a car. Wirt’s smile grew as Greg beamed at him. His big brother knocked on his kettle twice, then turned to head down the hallway.

“I’m gonna finish packing. Let me know when he gets here,” Wirt told them.

“Aye aye, captain!” Greg held up his salute until his brother’s door closed, then he dropped it and ran over to their mom by way of climbing over the arm chair, stepping on the end table, and then hurrying across the couch. “Mom! Mom!”

She paused at the mantle, in the middle of straightening the picture frames sitting on top of it. “Yes, Greg?”

Standing on the couch cushion closest to her, he placed his hands on his hips and tried to look as stern as possible. “We have to find a way to make sure Wirt has the best time for his birthday. It’s his sixteenth! It’s the most important one! Besides double digits. And fifty.”

“It is a very important birthday,” she agreed. “But I think it’s going to have to be up to Wirt to make sure he has a good time. And his dad. There’s not much we’ll be able to do from here.”

Greg frowned. “That’s no way to talk, soldier. You can do anything if you set your mind to it!”

“Oh, you’re right. Of course, how could I forget?” She grinned at him and poked his puffed up cheeks until he smiled and laughed. “We’ll just have to think of something then. Something extra special!”

“Yeah!” Greg’s face lit up and he grabbed onto her wrists. “Something super extra special! I don’t want him to be sad on his trip. Especially ‘cause it’s a trip with his dad.”

“I know, honey. I don’t want him to be sad either. Now, what do you think we could do to make sure Wirt smiles and knows just how much we love him while he’s away?” she asked him.

Well, that was a tough question. Greg tapped his chin in thought while Jason Funderburker croaked. Their frog had a point, there was very little that could make his brother all smiles. His birthday party that he’d had with his friends the weekend before had been pretty good. They all went into Boston for the day and Greg didn’t think he’d ever seen or heard Wirt laugh so much in one day. That had been pretty special.

Greg almost hadn’t gotten to go. His dad had been planning on staying home with him so Wirt could spend the time with his friends, but Wirt insisted that Greg come with them. He blinked. Wirt had wanted Greg to come with them because it was his sixteenth birthday (even if he was still technically fifteen at the time) and he wanted to share it with his brother. His smile stretched wide across his face as he put his palms together.

“I know exactly what to do,” he told their mom. “I’ll go with him!”

Her smile faltered as she processed what he said. “What?”

“I’ll go with Wirt to Paris, Mom. That way I can be there to make sure he has a good time!”

“Oh, honey. No, you can’t go with Wirt to Paris. This is supposed to be a trip for just him and his dad. So they can… connect more,” she replied.

Greg waved off her concerns. “Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll make sure they connect! I know all about having a good time with dads, I can show Wirt how it’s done!”

Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “I don’t think that’s necessary, Greg. Wirt’s dad and your dad are two very different types of dads. I’m sure Wirt can handle himself. Maybe.” Her brow furrowed as she considered the idea, then she shook her head. “Anyway, I was thinking you could do something more along the lines of writing your brother a nice letter or drawing him a picture and leaving it in his suitcase as a surprise. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“How about I hide in the suitcase as a surprise?” he suggested instead.

“Greg, you can’t go with them,” she told him again.

“Why not?”

It was the perfect plan, and honestly he didn’t see what was so wrong with it. He’d stay out of the way and let Wirt have a good time with his dad. He’d just be there for support. Like a coach or a cheerleader. He could bring pom-poms and make supportive signs cheering him on.

Besides, he and Wirt hadn’t been apart for more than a day since Halloween, and while he didn’t want to say anything, he was kind of worried about spending a whole week without him. For Wirt’s sake, of course. Greg would be fine on his own, but his big brother would need him. And Jason Funderburker.

“Honey, I just don’t…” Their mom chewed on her lower lip as she thought about it.

Greg plastered on his very best pleading face, hands clasped together under his chin as he blinked up at her. She shook her head and straightened up, hands on her hips as she struggled to maintain eye contact with him. Their staring contest lasted until Greg’s eyes teared up and he had to blink and rub at them with his fists.

“It’s not up to you or me, Greg.” She finally decided on saying.

Greg frowned and placed his hands on his hips to mirror her. “Is it up to Wirt?” he asked.

His mom opened her mouth to reply, but paused as she considered that. “I suppose,” she hedged. “Since it is Wirt’s birthday trip, it would be up to him on whether or not you could go.”

Greg grinned. “So if he says he wants me there, then I can go?”

She narrowed her eyes. “If he says he wants you there, then you have my permission to ask Wirt’s dad if you’re allowed to go. He’s the one who’s going to be in charge, so he has the final say.”

“Wirt’s the one turning sixteen, I think he should have final say.” He attempted to negotiate.

“Nice try, buddy, but that’s not how it works.” She gave his back a pat so he’d hop down from the couch, then she straightened out the cushions that he crumpled in his haste to run to her. “But go ahead and see what Wirt thinks.”

“He’s gonna say yes!” Greg told her as he raced down the hall to his brother’s bedroom door and knocked loudly.

“Don’t get your hopes up!” their mom called to him as the door opened.

Wirt’s eyes were lined with worry as he poked his head out, his face a shade paler than normal. “Is he here?”

Oh, right. He’d told them to tell him when his dad arrived. Greg beamed and shook his head while Jason Funderburker croaked. Wirt relaxed visibly and opened the door wider, revealing the half-packed suitcase sitting on the floor. Talk about last minute packing, Greg mused as he eyed it for a moment before Wirt garnered his attention.

“What’s up then?”

“Well, you’re worried about going on this trip with your dad, right?” Greg opened, leaning against the doorframe as casually as possible.

Wirt looked like he wanted to deny it, but let out a long breath instead. “Yeah, I suppose you could say that,” he agreed as he stepped over the suitcase to pick up some shirts from his bed.

“Because it’s just going to be you and him? Alone?” he pressed.

His brother seemed to be catching on. Slowly, he lowered the shirts and turned his head to fix Greg with the same narrow stare that their mom had just used on him. He hummed softly as he lifted an eyebrow.

“What are you getting at, Greg?” he asked.

“I’m just wondering if you’d feel better if you didn’t have to be alone with your dad,” Greg replied. “If you’d feel better if I was there with you.”

His brother’s suspicion faded as a small, sort of sad and sort of happy smile pulled at his lips. “Of course I’d feel better if you were with me.” He confirmed, tossing one of the shirts into the suitcase.

Greg’s smile grew as he sensed their mom standing right behind him, hearing every word. “So do you want me to come with you? ‘Cause I will. I’ll do it.”

“Yeah, I want you to come,” Wirt answered, dropping to his knees to sort through the clothes he had. “But it can’t happen, Greg. We’ve only got two tickets and our flight leaves today and you would need to pack and- and I just don’t see it working out. Plus, it’s expensive. I mean, I don’t have the money to pay for your ticket, and there’s no way I’m asking Dad-”

“Don’t worry about the money,” their mom piped up, startling Wirt into looking up from where he’d been staring into the depths of his suitcase.

“What?” He gaped at her.

Her gaze focused on him. “Would you really feel better if Greg went with you?” she asked Wirt.

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation, his eyes wide and hopeful.

She turned her attention to Greg, who stood straight under her stare. “And would you really be on your very, very best behavior and not cause your brother and his father any trouble?”

“Yes,” Greg mimicked the way Wirt answered her, then leaned in. “Is that a yes, Mom?”

Her stern façade faded as she couldn’t help but chuckle at his eagerness. “It’s a yes from me,” she acquiesced, then held up her index finger before either of her sons could get too excited. “But your dad still has to agree. Both of your dads. Capisce?” She glanced between the two of them.

“Absolutely. Yes, of course.” Wirt nodded as he tripped over himself in his haste to get to his feet. “But, Mom, are you serious? You’re serious? But how? I mean, it’s a lot of money and-”

“I told you, don’t worry about the money. If your dad says it’s okay and if Jonathan isn’t against it either, then we’ve got a little extra in savings that we can use for Greg’s ticket,” she told him.

“Are you sure?”

“Well, it means we won’t be replacing the carpet in your room any time soon, but yes. I’m sure. I want you to enjoy this trip and this time with your dad. If having Greg along will help, then I can’t be against it,” she replied, then pointed to his suitcase. “But you’ll both need to be packed.”

“Right. Yes. Come on, Greg, help me get the rest of this stuff in here.” Wirt piled more clothes into his suitcase, forming a mini mountain that spilled out the sides as he pushed down on it.

“Cannonball!” Greg shouted, giving Wirt just enough warning to lean away from the bag as Greg bellyflopped on the clothes to try and squish them.

By the time the doorbell rang, Wirt’s suitcase and carry-on were finished and the brothers had turned their attention to stuffing Greg’s. As the chime echoed through the house, Wirt froze and his fingers tightened around one of the stuffed animals Greg insisted on bringing with him. With shaky breaths, Wirt inhaled and exhaled slowly, then met his gaze. Greg gave him a thumbs up, then darted out of his room and into the living room just as their mom opened the door.

This was it. He was finally going to see what Wirt’s dad looked like. Sounded like. Would he sound like Wirt at all? With his Snidely Whiplash mustache and hunched back and briefcase? Greg clasped his hands together as he watched the man step inside their house.

There was no thunderous clap or jagged bolt of lightning. There was no ominous organ music or drums bellowing upon his arrival. And he didn’t have a mustache.

All in all, he looked very… ordinary.

“Good to see you, Amelia,” Mort Palmer greeted their mom, his voice a rather pleasant tenor. “You’re looking well.”

Their mom had blow-dried her hair and straightened it with a flat iron that morning, what she did whenever she wanted to make it look like she didn’t put too much effort into looking nice. Wirt said it was because she wanted to show off in front of his dad, show him what he was missing out on. It was the same reason she cleaned the house extra good, even though it had already been pretty clean.

She held her head high as she looked him over. “So do you,” she acknowledged as she closed the door behind him. “Come on in. Wirt should be ready in just a minute.”

“I know how he is with packing. Always last minute, that boy,” Mort replied, as if he knew Wirt’s habits like the back of his hand and Greg had to frown a little as he looked him over.

He was taller than his mom by a good deal, with long, slender legs – but not in a spindly, spider sort of way, just a normal kind of tall way – and equally long arms. With the way Wirt was growing – all awkward limbs and angles – Greg could easily imagine that this was the kind of person he was growing up into. Well, sort of. Greg narrowed his gaze a bit as he took in Mort Palmer’s face and hair. His hair was nicely kept, not in constant disarray like their mom’s, Wirt’s, or even his own, though it was dark brown like Wirt’s, but their mom’s hair was also the same dark, oaky shade. His face was sharper than Wirt’s though, his chin and jaw very distinct, but they had the same nose. Greg touched his own lightly. He himself didn’t really look anything like Wirt. They didn’t even have the same color eyes.

“Ah… this must be Gregory?” He blinked as he heard the man address him, glancing between his mom and Mort.

“Yes. Come say hello, Greg.” His mom waved him over, so he stepped closer to them.

Mort had his arms clasped behind his back, so Greg mimicked his posture and held his head up. “Hi, I’m Greg. It’s nice to meet you,” he told him, remembering what his mom said about being on his best behavior. If he wanted Wirt’s dad to let him come with them on the trip, then he had to make a good impression.

The man smiled at him, but there was something wrong with it. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Greg. I’m Mr. Palmer.” He held out his hand for him to shake.

Greg had to arch an eyebrow at that, but took his hand nonetheless. “Wirt calls my dad Jonathan,” he told him. “I can’t call you Mort?”

Mort straightened his shoulders, the strange smile tightening around his mouth and eyes as he looked down on him. “I think Mr. Palmer should suffice.”

Greg glanced between him and his mom, then shrugged and nodded. “Okay. If you say so, Mr. Palmer.”

“Do you want something to drink?” His mom redirected the conversation like a pro, her smile just as odd and misplaced on her face as the man before her. “Or a snack, or something?”

Mort shook his head, waving the request away with his hand. “No. No, I’m alright, thanks. I had a late breakfast.” Movement from behind Greg caught the man’s eye, his gaze going right over his head. “Wirt,” he started, sounding pleasantly surprised. “Well, look at you, son. You’re almost a man.”

Greg glanced over his shoulder, crinkling his nose at his brother as he mouthed, ‘What?’ to him. Wirt’s gaze bounced from his to his dad’s as he lingered in the hallway for a moment, as if the floor would swallow him up whole if he so much as left the comfort of the wall. Oh boy, did his brother need him on this trip or what?

“Hi, Dad,” Wirt greeted, his voice cracking a little. “Um… how are you?”

“Good, I’ve been good,” he replied. “Are you all set? We need to leave soon if we want to make our flight on time.”

Wirt fidgeted and Greg watched the way he scuffed the toes of his shoes against the floor. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I’m packed, I just- I just had… was wondering, umm…”

“You’re still stammering?” Mort sighed impatiently.

As Wirt paled a shade, Greg whipped his head around to stare at the man, shocked to hear somebody actually call Wirt out on it. Their mom frowned, her arms crossed over her chest as she fixed Mort with a stern look. Sterner than he’d ever seen her look at him or Wirt.

“I’m… it’s not stammering, exactly…” Wirt muttered, and Greg glanced back to watch him fold into himself a bit.

“Mortimer,” their mom warned the man and he held up his hands as he backtracked a bit.

“I’m sorry, it’s just something I thought he would’ve outgrown by now,” he defended.

Their mom raised an eyebrow, staring coolly at him. “I think our son has something he wants to ask you. Would you please be quiet and listen?”

“I’d listen if he actually spoke up and said what he wanted,” Mort replied.

Wirt’s cheeks colored, and he hid his face in his hands to muffle his strained groan. Jason Funderburker croaked, poking his head out from under the teapot to see what was going on. Their lucky frog knew just the right thing to say. Greg smiled up at him as it got Wirt to lower his hands and take a deep enough breath to get his face to not be so red.

“Dad? I really appreciate you taking the time to take me on this trip,” Wirt tried again, his voice firmer and surprising both of his parents. “It’s pretty incredible, and more than I could’ve imagined, but I was wondering- and Mom said it was okay already and that she’d cover it, but I was wondering if it would be alright with you if we brought Greg along. I mean, my actual sixteenth birthday will happen while we’re in France, and I… think it’s important that he’s there. I’d like him to be there. With us. If that’s okay. Is it okay?”

Wirt had paled a bit again, so Greg gave him a secret double thumbs up to let him know he did a great job. Because he had! Greg for one was very impressed with the way he set up and asked the question. Both brothers looked to the man in question for his response, Greg keeping his fingers crossed behind his back while Mort glanced between them, to their mom, and then back at Wirt.

“Well… that’s…” It was Mort’s turn to be at a loss for words, Greg noted with a grin. Oh, how the tables have turned. “You said it was alright?” he asked their mom.

She nodded. “It’s what Wirt wants, and it is his birthday. I told them ultimately it would be up to you, but I did give my permission for Greg to go if you don’t mind having him along.”

“I didn’t think they liked each other,” Mort remarked.

“We like each other,” Greg pointed out at the same time Wirt did, though he was more matter-of-fact about it while Wirt sounded a bit more defensive. “We’re the best brothers,” Greg added with a grin.

“Right,” Wirt tacked on.

“And Wirt’s always way more fun whenever I’m around, so it would be a win for you, too!” Greg continued, doing his part to sell Mort on the idea of letting him come on the trip.

“Right- hey.” Wirt frowned as he realized just what he was agreeing to. “I’m fun without you.”

“No, you’re not,” Greg assured him.

“Greg-”

“Boys. Don’t start.” Their mom pointed to both of them. “Arguing isn’t going to help you win your case.”

Mort snorted, shoving his hands in his pockets as he turned his attention back to her. “Are you sure you can afford it? A music teacher’s salary doesn’t exactly have the wiggle room for whims like this, let alone yours.”

Greg watched as their mom and Wirt both bristled, so he crossed his arms and made a serious looking face as well because clearly that was the thing to do. Not that he was sure why though, but he had a feeling that it had something to do with his dad. Given the music teacher thing and all.

“We can more than manage,” their mom replied tersely. “If you don’t want to take him with you, then just say so, Mort. It’s your call.”

The man shrugged. “He can come along if he wants. It doesn’t matter to me. The suite I’ve booked is big enough as long as he and Wirt don’t mind sharing.”

“We don’t!” Wirt immediately stepped up to say. “Are you- you’re sure, Dad?”

“Can he be packed and ready to go in five minutes?” Mort asked.

“Yes. Yes, absolutely. He’s already packed.” Wirt started to babble while Greg jumped up and down with a joyous laugh. “I’ll go grab his suitcase. And my suitcase. Thanks, Dad. Really, thank you.”

“It’s not every day a young man turns sixteen.” Mort waved it off. “You should get to have the birthday you want.”

Wirt’s face honestly lit up, a hopeful smile shining in the corners of his lips and he nodded and raced down the hall to grab their stuff. Greg turned to follow him, then remembered something very important and spun around to look at Mort again.

“Thank you, Mr. Palmer!” he chirped.

“You’re welcome,” he returned.

Greg grinned, then bounded off for his room, but not before he heard his mom’s hushed voice. “Do not ruin this for him. The last thing he needs is for you to break his heart again. He won’t get past that. Not again.”

“If you don’t trust me, Amelia, then why are you letting me take him?” Mort hissed back.

“Because I’m optimistic!” she whispered harshly. “I want Wirt to have a good relationship with you. For his sake.”

“For someone who’s so optimistic, you’re certainly assuming the worst in me,” he muttered.

“Well, you don’t exactly have the best track record, do you?”

The rest of the conversation slipped past him, went right over his head as Greg jumped when a hand settled on his shoulder. He looked back to see Wirt bent down next to him. His big brother took his hand, then gently coaxed him out of the hall and into his bedroom. Greg followed obediently, but blinked at the contact. Wirt holding his hand wasn’t unusual anymore, he always held his hand when they crossed the street or went somewhere crowded, but they were only going a few feet in their house. Still, Greg let Wirt hold his hand if it made him feel better and let him lead him away even though he wanted to find out the rest of their mom and Mort’s conversation. He figured he heard enough, because he knew now more than ever what a good idea it was for him to go with them on Wirt’s birthday trip.

He wasn’t letting anybody break his brother’s heart. Not on his watch.

-0-

_Ribbit._

“Shh!” Greg took a peek down the inside of his sweatshirt that his mom insisted on him taking because it would be cold once they were on the plane and gazed sternly at the froggy face blinking back at him. “If you’re going to stowaway properly, you’re going to have to be quieter than that, Jason Funderburker.”

Their frog simply stared at him, but since he didn’t make another sound, Greg took that as a silent promise to stay… well, silent. Smiling to himself, Greg let go of the collar of his sweatshirt, concealing Jason Funderburker once more and bounced on his heels as he waited for Wirt and Wirt’s dad to finish collecting their things from the x-ray bins from security. With only his backpack and his shoes to worry about, Greg had easily finished first. Wirt seemed to be coming in second, he’d accidentally left his belt on when he walked through the metal detector, and Mort was in third because he had a bag with a laptop on top of his shoes, belt, and watch that had to go in the bins.

Since Jason Funderburker wasn’t made of metal, he didn’t make the detector go off the way Wirt’s belt did. Greg had tucked him into the front of his overalls so he was nice and secure before slipping the bright orange sweatshirt on. His mom made him take that one, because then he’d be easy to spot if he wandered away from Wirt, which he was told to absolutely under no circumstance do.

“Even if I see a Cinnabon place at the airport?” Greg had asked their mom and his dad while Wirt and Mort put the bags in the rental car.

“Even if you see a Cinnabon place,” his dad laughed, ruffling his hair before scooping him in a big hug - though Greg was careful to angle Jason Funderburker away so his cover wouldn’t be blown. “But we gave Wirt some pocket money, so if you ask real nice, I bet he’ll buy you one.”

“If I promise not to wander away from him, can he buy me two?” Greg negotiated.

He was passed to his mom so she could kiss him on the forehead. “Your limit is one Cinnabon per visit to the Cinnabon store, Gregory. Do not guilt your brother into letting you have two and do not steal his if he decides to buy one for himself.”

“I won’t. And that’s a rock fact!” Greg reached into his pocket and whipped out his rock facts rock.

“Gregory,” his mom had warned.

“It’s a true one,” he assured her as she set him down.

It was a true one. He wouldn’t guilt Wirt into letting him have two - because while guilt-tripping his brother was the easiest way to get what he wanted it also made him feel the worst - and he wouldn’t steal Wirt’s cinnamon roll either. But he’d find a way to get two. There was always a way.

Greg stood on his tiptoes to scan the food places around the airport gates in front of him. No sign of a Cinnabon place yet. Or even a place for ice cream. Well, hopefully there’d be better places by their gate. Darkness suddenly shrouded everything, a pair of hands clapped over his eyes. Greg gasped, then giggled as he heard Wirt’s laugh from behind him. Prying them off, Greg turned around to bump their foreheads together as he grinned at him.

“Are you done being as slow as molasses?” he asked, then squealed as Wirt poked him hard in the sides and darted away from him.

He stuck his tongue out at him, pleased when, after a quick glance around to make sure no one was looking, Wirt returned the gesture with a silly face. “Watch yourself, mister.”

“You watch yourself,” Greg returned, holding his chin high.

Wirt raised an eyebrow, his lips pulled to the side in an amused smirk, but all of that went away as soon as Mort brushed past him. “Gate’s this way, boys,” he told them, comparing the number printed on their tickets to the numbers on the signs with arrows directing them.

Greg’s own smile faded a little as he watched the way Wirt’s shoulders tensed, hunching up by his ears. His fingers clenched around the strap of his satchel and the little lines that creased around his eyes and mouth when he was worried or anxious or scared or stressed marked his face. All his dad had done was bump his shoulder, just barely, not even a bump. Greg puffed out his cheeks and placed his hands on his hips. This was going to be a lot tougher than he thought, but he was determined to make sure Wirt and Mort had a good time together. Just because Wirt didn’t wish for things to be different - to have a better dad who loved him - didn’t mean that he didn’t deserve it.

“Wirt! Let’s get a move on!” Mort called out, spurring Wirt into motion.

His older brother hurried right after the man, passing Greg by completely in his haste. Well, that was unexpected, he reflected, grabbing onto the straps of his backpack as he watched Wirt’s back steadily blend in with the crowd around him, chasing the back of Mort in front of him. When he almost lost sight of him, Greg was startled into a run, weaving in between carry-ons and businessmen and globs of families so he could catch up with them.

Slowing to a trot, he fell into step with Wirt. He looked up at him expectantly, waiting for a reprimand for not keeping up. But he didn’t get one. Greg frowned and kicked at Wirt’s foot for his attention. His brother tripped, falling face first to the floor when he couldn’t catch himself and sending Greg skidding on his back a bit when he’d stepped in front of him to try and catch him instead. At least Jason Funderburker hadn’t been crushed.

Wirt blinked, extremely confused by how exactly he’d ended up splayed out on the floor of the airport, and Greg ducked his head sheepishly. He watched him put the pieces together and slowly narrow his eyes at him. Opening his mouth to apologize, because he certainly hadn’t meant to make his overly clumsy brother trip, he was beaten to the punch by a disappointed drawl.

“Wirt, what are you doing? Get off the floor. You don’t know who’s walked on this,” Mort sneered. “You’re almost sixteen years old. Start acting like it.”

All the color washed right out of Wirt’s face as he scrambled to his feet. “Sorry. I- I tripped and-”

“Always tripping over your own feet. You need to stop scuffing your shoes on the ground, that’s what does it. All that fidgeting you do.” It was Mort’s turn for his gaze to narrow as Wirt took that moment to fidget nervously. “Stop that.”

“He can do what he wants,” Greg blurted out, standing up straight beside Wirt, though he did lower his shoulders a bit when the firm stare was turned onto him. “I mean, it’s not that big a deal. It’s not like it’s hurting anybody. And it was my fault he fell. I got in his way. I’m sorry.”

Humming gruffly, Mort accepted this and nodded. “Be more careful,” he advised. “And keep up. Even though we don’t have to board for another thirty minutes, I’d like for us to get settled so we can check the status of the flight and be ready to get in line. Understand?”

“Yes,” both Wirt and Greg answered.

Satisfied with their response, Mort continued walking. Right past a Cinnabon, too. Greg pouted, reluctantly trailing after the man. His hand was immediately snatched though. Glancing over his shoulder, he tilted his head at Wirt curiously.

His brother glanced to the cinnamon roll kiosk knowingly, a small smile pulling at him lips. “We’ll come back and get one after we get to our terminal. Promise.”

Greg lit up, perfectly alright with this turn of events. “Okay,” he agreed.

Wirt made good on his promise after the three of them claimed a set of seats by the big windows overlooking the runway. Greg had flown before to Canada with his parents and Wirt and his grandparents, it was how he already had a passport all set to go for Paris, but it was still exciting to see all the planes sitting right outside the windows. He pressed his face against the glass, content to watch the planes while his brother left him with his dad to go get their cinnamon rolls.

It was a good chance to observe Mort Palmer one-on-one. Glancing at the man’s reflection in the glass, Greg watched him thumb through his phone. It was a pretty nice looking phone and went along with his pretty nice looking clothes. Even though they were just going on an airplane, he was wearing nice slacks, loafers, a button-front shirt with a collar and a sharply pressed, navy blazer. It sort of reminded him of the nice way Wirt tended to dress, except where his brother looked cozy and a little disheveled, this man looked untouchable.

His lips turned down as he read something on his phone, then started to type something. That was pretty boring, so Greg took to watching a plane in the sky that was coming in for a landing. Landings and take-offs were the best parts of flying, he remembered that well.

When the plane disappeared, heading somewhere else for its terminal, Greg glanced at Mort again. He was still typing. Greg moved away from the window, climbing into the seat he’d placed his backpack on.

“What are you typing?” he asked.

“An email,” Mort responded.

“An email for what?”

“Work.”

Greg puffed up his cheeks, brow furrowing. Mort seemed awfully fond of one-word answers. He kicked his feet back and forth, watching him curiously, but the man paid him no mind. When he finished answering his email, he closed out of it and went to check a different one.

“What kind of work do you do?” Greg continued to try and piece together more of the puzzle that was his brother’s dad.

The man didn’t answer, but that was okay because a box with a fresh cinnamon roll was being handed to him by his brother. “He’s an architect,” Wirt told him, taking his seat in between them. “He works for a firm in New York and designs commercial buildings. You know, like things for businesses.”

“Oh.” Greg nodded with understanding, then leaned forward to look at Mort. “Hey, Mr. Palmer. Wirt designs buildings and stuff, too! Well, mostly rooms and furniture and things like that, but it’s still really cool!”

“Interior design is very different from the kind of work I do,” Mort replied without looking up from his phone.

Greg blinked, glancing from him to Wirt as his brother stiffened. “Oh…”

“But it is an important aspect in the aesthetic of the overall design,” the man continued, finally turning off his phone and pocketing it for the time being, focusing on Wirt. “You’re interested in interior design?”

He swallowed thickly and nodded. “Yeah. Have been for a while now, I guess. I’ve uh… I’ve read all the books that you left and the ones focusing on interior design were really interesting.”

“Right. I do remember leaving some behind. I always thought your mother sold them when the two of you moved,” he mused.

Wirt shook his head. “No, I uh… I still have them.”

Mort offered him a smile. “I have other books that are more current that I can send you if you’d like. I know I have a couple of reference books on Art Nouveau that might appeal to you.”

“Yeah! I mean, sure, that’d be great.” Wirt’s face lit up and Greg beamed along with him. “I really like Art Nouveau.”

“I’m partial to it as well, though I have to say there is something about classic, European designs that resonates with me more. It’s versatile. It can assimilate well in practically any environment.” Mort paused, studying Wirt as he nodded enthusiastically. “What style is your favorite?”

“Oh gosh. I don’t know. I guess I really like French? The ornate, fanciful stuff and the country design, too, with the wooden beams, all rustic and old-world. They both appeal to me. It’s why I’m so excited to be going to France. I can’t wait to actually see the architecture up close instead of just in pictures or in movies, you know?”

Mort nodded. “The architecture is certainly one of a kind. We may not be able to see everything, but we can get a good look at the big ones. I’m assuming you want to see the Eiffel Tower, of course?”

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely. I have a whole list and marked them all down on a map to see what’s closest and what we could combine into a day to make the most of the trip. We don’t have to see all of them, but I know I really want to see La Sainte-Chapelle and Notre-Dame. Not to mention the Louvre and d’Orsay and the Paris Opera House.”

“I think we can definitely arrange to see all of that and more,” Mort confirmed. “We’ll go over your list and map when we arrive at the hotel.”

Wirt was nearly bouncing in his seat and Greg had to stifle a giggle. His big brother was so excited! Pleased with the work he’d done so far, Greg rewarded himself with a big bite of his cinnamon roll. Oh, this was going to work out just great.

-0-

Since Greg’s ticket had been purchased way after Wirt and Mort’s, his seat was two rows behind them. He didn’t have to sit in it though. Mort took it since he was an adult and could sit bit himself, allowing the two brothers to sit together.

“Want the window seat?” Wirt asked him when they arrived at their row on the plane.

He did, but this was Wirt’s special birthday trip. “Mm-mm.” He shook his head. “You go in first, brother o’ mine!”

“You sure?”

“Yeah! You should get to see Paris when we land! Besides, I can just sit on your lap if I want to see anything good,” he reasoned.

Wirt laughed. “Fair enough.”

Neither of them put their bags in the overhead bin, deigning to shove them under the seats in front of them. There were little TV screens on the back of each seat and Greg excitedly flipped through them. There hadn’t been TVs on the flight they took to Canada. This was serious luxury. He lit up when Wirt untangled two pairs of headphones from his carry-on, taking the smaller set for himself.

“How long’s the flight?” he asked.

“Seven hours,” Wirt replied, removing a book from his bag next. “Think you can handle it?”

“Please,” Greg scoffed. “Seven hours is nothing when you’ve got free TV in front of you! Wait. Are they gonna feed us?”

“Greg, you just ate a cinnamon roll and then half of mine,” Wirt snorted. “How are you thinking of food now?”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t mean feed us now. I mean feed us later,” he told him matter-of-factly. “I’m thinking ahead. Planning our future.”

“Oh, okay. Yes, Greg. They’ll feed us.” Wirt ruffled his hair. “Put your seatbelt on. And you should really try to sleep for most of the flight. When we get to Paris, it’s going to be tomorrow morning.”

Greg’s brow furrowed as he did as his brother asked, snapping the belt into the console. “But you just said the flight’s seven hours. In seven hours it’ll be night.”

“There’s a time difference though, between us and France. We’re losing the entire night, but we’ll gain it back on the flight home,” Wirt assured him. “But since we’re going to be doing stuff when we arrive tomorrow, you’ll need to have slept a bit. Okay?”

“Okay. I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises,” Greg answered honestly.

Wirt pursed his lips, then nodded. “Good enough for me.”

Greg watched him settle in, opening his book – The Collected Poems of Sara Teasdale – to find his last dog-eared page. His eyes fell upon a poem called, “Beatrice,” and immediately his gaze drank in the words and his lips silently formed the syllables as he lost himself to it. Greg smiled, and knew they were both recalling their bluebird friend. He hoped Wirt wrote a poem about her someday – that he actually let people read – so she could be immortalized in a book the way this Beatrice had been.

Before they took off, Greg checked on Jason Funderburker. The frog appeared pleased, happy to be toasty warm on the cold plane. He winked at him, so Greg winked back. The stewardess began the presentation of all the safety items that he only half paid attention to. Wirt wasn’t paying attention either, caught up in his poems. Greg sat up a bit and looked back for his brother’s dad and found him to be deeply engrossed in a book as well. It made him smile, but it also made him kind of sad and a little scared.

What if Wirt and Mort got along so well on this trip, he’d decide to go live with him in New York? Greg shook his head and slumped down in his seat. No, that was ridiculous. Wirt wouldn’t like New York, it’d be too big for him. Too many people. But then he could blend into the crowd easier, the way he liked to. He pretended to do that in their hometown, but it never really worked. Most of his classmates knew who he was, even if Wirt preferred to think they didn’t.

Greg bit down on his lower lip and looked to his brother. Wirt was still oblivious, in his own little world of poems, now on one called, “The Rose and the Bee.” The bee. Oh, Wirt wouldn’t leave to go to New York. He was in love with Sara. Greg relaxed exponentially. While Wirt hadn’t said it out loud yet, he’d written it down enough times to get the sentiment across. Plus, Greg had a feeling he’d tell her soon.

When the plane started to move, Wirt glanced up from the book to check out the window, then turned to smile at him. “Ready for take-off?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, captain!” Greg grinned.

Wirt saved his page, then rifled around in his bag a bit. He pulled out a packet of gum and offered him a silver wrapped stick. Before Greg took it, Wirt gave him a warning look.

“This is for when you need to pop your ears,” he told him. “Don’t try to throw it on the ceiling or at the stewardess or in your hair or in _my_ hair. Just keep it in your mouth, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed, even though that didn’t sound like much fun, and Wirt handed him the gum. “Are you feeling better about the trip?” he asked while he still had his brother’s attention.

Wirt shrugged, setting aside his own stick so he could put the package away. “I think so?”

“You and your dad were getting along pretty well earlier. I think if you just keep talking about architecture, you’ll both stay happy.” Greg put in his two cents.

A laugh slipped out of him. “Yeah, maybe.”

“You just gotta keep positive, Wirt.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promised as their plane lined up on the runway.

They sped up, Greg all but bouncing in his seat as he beamed at Wirt. Both of them turned their attention out the window, watching as the world tilted. Wirt made a pleased, little gasp while Greg laughed right out as the rollercoaster feeling swelled in his stomach.

“No turning back now,” Wirt mused.

“Onwards and upwards!” Greg chirped.

-0-

In the cab ride through Paris from the airport to their hotel, Wirt gaped in awe in entire time. It was kind of funny, Greg thought to himself as he glanced around, too. All the buildings looked really nice and so big. Much bigger than Boston, which was the biggest city he’d been to so far in his young life. He knew Wirt had been to New York twice, but from the look on his face, that couldn’t even compare to this.

Their hotel was huge, right in the city center, Greg was told. The lobby was polished so nicely, he could see his reflection in the smooth floor. There were chandeliers dripping with crystals hanging from the ceiling and Greg couldn’t help but be reminded of the giant chandelier in Beauty and the Beast and wondered if the hotel made them look that way because of the movie.

When he asked Wirt that, his big brother just laughed and ruffled his hair. “Maybe.”

“The Four Seasons Hotel George V was built in 1928, so no, Gregory. If anything, the movie took inspiration from traditional, French design,” Mort told him before leading them to the concierge desk.

Greg pulled down the collar of his sweatshirt so Jason Funderburker could see some of the luxurious lobby. He croaked his appreciation, catching Wirt’s attention, and his older brother smacked himself in the forehead at the sight of their frog. Well, he should’ve known that he wouldn’t leave their lucky frog behind! They definitely needed all the good luck they could get to make sure Wirt had the best sixteenth birthday ever.

“Just make sure no one sees him until we get to our room, okay?” Wirt hissed.

They couldn’t check into their room right away because it was too early, but the hotel took their luggage and stored it so they could do a bit of sight-seeing while they waited. Since they both napped on the plane, Wirt and Greg were eager to get out and see a bit of the city. It was only nine-thirty in the morning in Paris, and they had the whole day ahead of them!

“I know a great place for breakfast,” Mort told the boys as he led the way out of the opulent lobby. “It’s on the way to Notre-Dame and La Sainte-Chapelle.”

That got Wirt moving, grabbing Greg’s hand to make sure he didn’t fall behind this time.

Breakfast had been a bit strange – not at all like the kind of breakfast Greg was used to – and he was surprised to find that French toast wasn’t on the menu. “It’s called _pain perdu_ here,” Wirt told him, helping to translate the menu for him. “Is that what you want?”

“You can have French toast anywhere in the states,” Mort scoffed, making the boys look up. “We’ll stick with a traditional French breakfast. It’ll be a good experience for you.”

Wirt pursed his lips, his brow creasing as if he wanted to argue, but Greg gave him a pat on his knee. “I like trying new things,” he replied.

Cheese for breakfast was definitely a new thing, especially cheese that Greg didn’t even know the names of. Wirt didn’t either, but he did quick taste tests to find which ones he figured his palate could handle, then set those aside for him. It was funny to see Wirt eat a cheese he didn’t like. His nose would scrunch and his lips would get small and pinched and it took him a while to swallow.

They also had bread, toast, and jam – marmalade for Wirt – which was pretty normal, along with something called _pain beignet_ that was pretty much a ball of fried dough coated in powdered sugar. Wirt’s dad nibbled on a croissant, his breakfast being his coffee – or _café au lait_ – as he kept calling it. Wirt had a cup of tea and Greg had hot chocolate, but when his brother didn’t really like his tea, Greg shared his drink with him. Wirt forgot to ask for his tea with milk and was too shy to speak up and ask for some after their food was brought to them. In return, his brother helped him sneak food to Jason Funderburker when no one was looking.

“I could eat cheese and sugar for breakfast every day!” Greg announced as they headed towards the two cathedrals.

“I don’t doubt that.” Wirt grinned.

While looking at the two cathedrals wasn’t the most exciting thing Greg had ever done, it was nice to see Wirt so entranced by it. He made sure not to wander off, not wanting to ruin this experience for his brother by making him worry, and listened to him and Mort talk about the history behind both buildings and the differences in architecture.

At Notre-Dame they went on a tour and Greg wanted to see the bell tower, to see if he could spy a hunchback, so they did that as well. With all the steps they had to climb to get up there, though, Wirt ended up having to carry him part of the way. There wasn’t any hunchback, but it was still one of the more exciting parts of the cathedral and Greg adored the gargoyles statues that were up there. Then they went down to the crypts, in case there were any ghosts. Greg was surprised that Wirt wasn’t even scared, more interested in seeing the exhibition and the archaeological remains than frightened by the prospect of ghosts. There were no ghosts anyway, but he and Wirt pretended to be like Indiana Jones, discovering the remains of a hidden city.

They went on a tour of La Sainte-Chapelle, too. Wirt appreciated the architecture there more, but agreed with Greg that Notre-Dame had been more fun. Still, he’d enjoyed both places and couldn’t stop thanking his dad during the entire cab ride back to the hotel.

“It really is something in person, isn’t it?” Mort chuckled, and Greg hadn’t even realized the man could make a sound like a laugh until he did.

“Oh my gosh, is it!” Wirt grinned. “Dad, just- just thank you. So much. This is already incredible and it’s just the first day!”

“Yeah!” Greg chimed in. “Thank you, Mr. Palmer!”

Mort clapped his hand on Wirt’s shoulder and gave him a light squeeze. “It’s my pleasure, son. I’m glad you’re enjoying this.”

When Mort turned away to look out the window, Wirt turned his attention to Greg with the happiest, teary-eyed smile he’d ever seen on his big brother’s face. Greg almost wanted to cry, too, if crying was something he did, and he squeezed Wirt’s hand tightly as he grinned right back at him. His brother deserved to have happy memories with his dad to replace the bad ones.

Once they were back at the hotel, they were able to check in and take their bags upstairs. Greg whooped at the sheer size of their room. It was like their own, mini house! There was a living room with a dining area and a desk and a small kitchen space, then two bedrooms on either side of the main living area with their own bathrooms. Everything was just as fancy as the lobby downstairs, in soft shades of blues and golds. He immediately jumped on the couch while Wirt stared dumbly at the suite.

“We’re seriously staying here?” He blinked at his dad while the man moved his suitcase into one of the rooms.

“We are,” Mort replied, then gestured to the bedroom across the way. “You and Greg are in there. There’s only the one bed, but it’s a king, so that shouldn’t be an issue, though if it is, you can have him sleep on the couch out here. He seems like it well-enough.”

They both looked at him sprawled out on it and he waved. “This is the best couch ever,” he told them.

Wirt turned back to Mort. “A king is fine, I mean, we’ve had to share smaller beds before, so it won’t be a problem.”

“It will if you hog all the covers like a cover hog!” Greg pointed out.

“What? I’m not the cover hog, _you’re_ the cover hog.”

“You’re the one who snorts in your sleep like a pig,” he giggled, then immediately jumped off the couch and ran to hide under the table when his brother gave chase.

He was too slow though, Wirt grabbed him by the ankle and pulled him out before he could get a good grip on the legs of the table or chairs. Attempting to kick free, Greg wiggled and laughed when Wirt shifted his grip so he had him around the middle. Jason Funderburker hopped out of his sweatshirt and darted for cover under the bed in their room while Wirt carried him in after him and dropped him onto the bed.

“I was kidding! You don’t! You’re quiet and you don’t make any noise but you still steal all the blankets!” Greg giggled, shoving away Wirt’s hands when he tried to pin him.

“I don’t think that’s a good enough apology,” he mused, digging his fingers into Greg’s sides. “I think you can do better.”

“Okay! Okay! I’m sorry! You’re the best brother to share a bed with!” He accidentally kneed Wirt in the gut, but that’s what he got for trying to tickle him. “Whoops.”

Wirt clutched his stomach and at first Greg worried that he’d seriously hurt him when he didn’t snap at him, but then he dropped to his knees and groaned like a dying Shakespeare character before flopping on the floor. Greg rolled his eyes. And his parents called _him_ dramatic.

“Wirt, get off the floor.” Mort shook his head, then disappeared into his section of the room.

“Yeah, Wirt.” Greg hopped down, straddling his brother’s stomach and putting all his weight on it so he coughed and stopped pretending to be boneless. “Get off the floor.”

“Struck down by the harsh words of mine own blood, I lay a crumbled wretch and wonder at fate’s design to saddle me with such contempt,” Wirt made up on the spot, then gasped out a startled laugh when Greg started to tickle him back. “No! No, we have a truce. Truce.”

“Truce,” Greg agreed, rolling off him to lie next to him on the floor. “Hey, this carpet’s really soft!”

“I know, that’s why I didn’t get up right away,” Wirt chuckled.

“We could just sleep here.”

“We could.”

“Let’s do it.”

“Okay.”

“Wirt, start unpacking. Instead of lunch today we’re going to head downstairs for afternoon tea. It’s one of the highlights this hotel offers,” Mort called out to them.

Wirt lifted his head. “Okay, Dad.”

Greg made a face. “I don’t like tea.”

“Maybe they have hot chocolate, like they did at breakfast.” Wirt shrugged, then got to his feet. “Come on, let’s get settled in.”

After they unpacked, they all changed clothes even though it was the afternoon since they’d been wearing the same clothes since they left for the airplane the day before. Wirt even made himself look a bit spiffier than usual, though he still didn’t look as harsh and sterile as his dad. Greg just pulled on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.

At three o’clock, afternoon tea was served. Mort explained that it wasn’t as formal an affair here as high tea was in London, for example, but it was still an event. They did have hot chocolate available to drink in lieu of tea, so Greg happily chose that instead. He was pleased to note that Wirt seemed to like the tea he had here much better, sipping at it calmly as he took in his surroundings. Ornate tapestries were draped along the walls, a red theme threaded throughout. Old, fancy paintings in large frames gazed around the room, the painted eyes of painted people observing the guests. Greg knew it appealed to his poetic sensibilities somehow, even if he didn’t really understand how. There was a pianist in the room that captured the younger boy’s attention though. Even if the music was a bit slow for his taste, it was very pretty and he found himself tapping along to the beat.

Along with the drinks, three tier trays of snacks were brought out to them. Finger sandwiches and dessert pastries filled them. “Try the macarons, they’re the best in the city,” Mort told them, pointing to the cream filled puffs.

“Don’t you mean macaroons?” Greg asked, even though they didn’t look like any coconut macaroon he’d ever seen.

“No,” was all Mort replied with.

“Macarons and macaroons are different,” Wirt explained patiently. “The names do sound and look the same though, and they’re both desserts so I know it can seem a little confusing.”

Greg decided that he liked macarons a whole lot more than macaroons. He ate three of them before he even touched one of the tiny sandwiches. He could tell Wirt liked them, too. A whole lot. His eyes lit up and he looked as if this was the best dessert he’d ever eaten, and Greg knew how much Wirt secretly liked dessert. But under the scrutiny of his dad, he held himself back and limited himself to two. Greg hid some extra ones in a napkin to give to him later.

“So, um… Dad? What’s the plan for the rest of the day?” Wirt asked, fidgeting a little in his seat, hands clasped in his lap.

Mort sipped at his tea. “Well, I figured we could do one of two things. We could either take it easy and recuperate in the room, or we could take a walk through the city and see the Eiffel Tower. It’s not a far walk from here it all. But it depends on how you two are feeling.”

“I feel fine!” Wirt blurted eagerly, then looked to Greg. “How about you?”

“I’m always up for an adventure!” Greg chirped and his brother flashed him a big smile.

“That settles it then.” He relaxed in his seat, then turned his smile to Mort. “We’ll see the Eiffel Tower.”

“Alright.” Mort nodded. “Then we can come back here for dinner and spend the rest of the evening in the room to adjust to the time.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Me too!”

-0-

The Eiffel Tower had been amazing. Greg couldn’t believe something could be so tall. He and Wirt had taken a bunch of pictures, and Greg even snapped one of Mort and Wirt together so they could have a father-son picture. They’d been taking pictures all day, their mom having given Wirt her camera to use throughout the trip, but the ones at the Eiffel Tower and on the way stuck out in Greg’s mind the most. Even though they were both getting pretty tired, the two brothers had such a fun time being silly and taking as many pictures of each other and together as they could.

Mort didn’t seem to share in their amusement though. When he caught them and told Wirt to behave, his brother instantly silenced himself, retreating into himself like he didn’t want to be seen or heard. Like he didn’t want to bother anyone. When the two of the started talking again, about school and other things Wirt was interested in and how work was going for Mort, Wirt did relax a bit, but the shift in behavior was something that struck Greg and he wasn’t sure if he liked it.

While getting along with his dad was a great thing and made him really happy, every time his dad gave him a certain look it seemed to set him back about ten spaces with no option to roll again. “How come your dad scares you sometimes?” Greg asked that night as they settled into bed, their door open to the living room, but Mort’s closed to them.

“He…” Wirt’s brow furrowed as he thought about it, propped up against the cushioned headboard with his poetry book open in his lap, fingers pointing to a poem called, “Less Than a Cloud to the Wind.” “He doesn’t scare me, necessarily. I don’t think that’s the right word. I guess part of me just doesn’t want to disappoint him and it’s hard to control that part sometimes. I think… I think we’re getting better though? Maybe he’s just not good with kids. Maybe, as I become more of an adult, we’ll be able to actually… talk. Talk more like we have been, you know?”

“I think so?” Greg squinted, petting Jason Funderburker’s back. “I don’t know… all I know is that you and Mom were right. Your dad and my dad are two very different kinds of dads. I don’t know how to deal with your dad at all. He seems so grumpy all the time.”

“Yeah, well. That’s Dad for you.”

Greg rolled onto his side to observe Wirt. “Are you happy that you decided to come after all?”

A small smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I really am. Mom was right. It was time to give him a chance. And I’m glad I did. I think this week will really make a difference.”

“Me too.” Greg yawned, even though it was only eight o’clock in Paris. “Goodnight, Wirt.”

“Goodnight, Greg.”

“Happy almost birthday,” he added, closing his eyes. “It’s tomorrow.”

“Yeah. It is.”

“We’ll have to get you another cake.”

“We’ll see about that.”

-0-

Even though he wasn’t a morning person, Wirt was up before eight in the morning of his own volition. He was showered and dressed by the time Greg blinked at the light of day streaming in through the window as his brother admired the view. They did have a nice view of buildings.

As soon as Greg realized it was morning, he sat straight up in bed, completely awake. “Happy Birthday, Wirt!”

“Thanks, Greg!” Wirt accepted the bouncing-flying hug that he gave him, then spun him around the room. “Get dressed. I think Dad’s awake and I want to run the plans for today by him.”

“What plans?” he asked.

“I was thinking we check out the Louvre and d’Orsay this morning and afternoon, then tonight I’d really like to check out the opera house, Palais Garnier. I’m not sure if it’s like Broadway here where theatres are dark on Mondays, but I figure we can look it up and see if anything’s playing and has rush tickets or something and we can try our luck,” Wirt babbled, his excitement palpable, but then he shrugged. “If not, then we can go another night this week. Really I just want to see the building in-person, but it’d be nice to see a show, too.”

“Okay! Let’s try our best to make that happen, brother o’ mine!” Greg pumped his fists in the air. “Today’s your day!”

He dressed quickly while Wirt tried to tame his hair in the bathroom mirror. They both went to wait in the living room while Mort finished getting ready in his room. When he came out, the two of them were watching something animated in French and Wirt was doing his best to translate with the two years of high school French that he had under his belt. He immediately hopped up and followed his dad to the kitchenette while Greg stayed on the couch and listened.

“Good morning, Dad.”

“Morning, Wirt. You two are up pretty early. Good. I can let you know what the plan is.” Mort set the briefcase that carried his laptop in it near the door.

Greg’s brow furrowed and it didn’t escape Wirt’s notice either. Both brothers glanced at each other before Wirt shook it off and focused on Mort instead. “Right, about that. Do you think we’d be able to see the Louvre and d’Orsay today? I mean, we could see them any day really, but I figured since today’s my actual birthday, it’d be cool to spend it there. If that’s okay with you.”

“I’m afraid that we won’t be able to go to the museums today, Wirt,” he replied, brewing a cup of coffee for himself.

Wirt scrunched his nose at the smell, but that wasn’t his biggest concern as his face fell. “Oh? Um… okay. Can I- can I ask why not?”

“I have a client that I’ll be in meetings with for most of the morning and late afternoon,” Mort explained. “I may or may not be back for lunch. I’ll have to check my schedule, but if that’s the case then you can order whatever you like from room service, then we’ll go out for a nice dinner when I get back.”

The silence that followed was heavy and thick. Greg could feel it pressing down around them, even as the noise from the television continued to fill the air. His brother had paused, his lips parted a little in surprise as he wrung his hands together.

“What… what do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean? I was pretty clear, Wirt. Pay attention and listen when I tell you the first time.” Wirt flinched at those words in particular, wide-eyed and hurt while his dad continued, “I’ll be meeting with a client today, tomorrow, and Wednesday, so that limits what we can do. We’ll see the museums on Thursday. But I know that today’s your birthday so we will have a special dinner. I was able to push back the company dinner to tomorrow just to open up tonight. Which was a pain, let me tell you, but when you insisted on doing something for your birthday, I didn’t really have a choice. Luckily the people I’ll be speaking with have families and were able to understand. Bringing you along actually worked in my favor, so there is that.”

“Company…? Client- is this-? Is this a _business_ trip?” Wirt blinked at him.

“Don’t stutter, Wirt,” Mort reprimanded, taking a sip of his coffee. “No one will take you seriously if you can’t get a single word out of your mouth.”

“I- I’m not stuttering. I’m just- I’m trying to figure out what’s going on.” Wirt raked his fingers through his hair, the enthusiasm that had colored his cheeks paling drastically. “Is this a business trip?”

“Yes.” Mort nodded. “I just told you that. Wirt, stop getting so caught up in your own thoughts. It’s ridiculous how little you pay attention to everything going on around you.”

“This… this is a business trip…” He was still fixated on that, not hearing the reprimand this time. “Was it… was it something you arranged after- after we planned this?” Wirt asked, and the hope that filled his brother’s eyes made Greg’s heart clench tightly as he chewed on his lower lip. “Like, since you’re in Paris and some business has to be done, you might as well do it while you’re here?”

Mort raised an eyebrow. “No, Wirt. This was a business trip arranged by my firm months ago. We’ve been dealing with this particular group for a while now and we’ve set aside this time to go over some preliminary plans and scout the location. I’ll be coming back in October as well to finish- what?”

“Wirt?” Greg muted the television, then slid off the couch.

Wirt’s lips were pressed together tightly, his brow furrowed in an attempt to look stern or angry or something other than broken, but the shine of tears in his eyes spoke volumes. “So… what is this then? Bringing me here?”

“What are you so upset for?” Mort scoffed. “You’re here, aren’t you? You get to see Paris. I mean, honestly, Wirt. I thought you’d be sensible enough to realize that a trip to Paris just for your sixteenth birthday is completely unreasonable. You think I arranged all this?”

“I- but- I- _yes_!” Wirt clenched his fists. “Yeah, I did actually!”

“Don’t start this. Do you know how ungrateful you sound right now?” Mort turned to the sink and dumped out the rest of his coffee before brushing past Wirt. “I didn’t have to bring you here. You asked if we could do something for your birthday and this was already planned. I don’t know what more you want from me.”

“I didn’t want anything! I didn’t ask for some grand gesture or fancy treatment, I just wanted you to-” Wirt stopped himself, swallowing thickly before continuing. “I just wanted you to want to spend time with me. I thought that’s what this was.”

“Well, I’m sorry this didn’t meet your expectations.” Mort hefted up his briefcase. “But that’s your problem, Wirt. You’re not a child. You know how the world works. Not everything can be as neat and compartmentalized as you would like it to be.” He straightened his tie, then opened the door and stepped out. “Besides, this shouldn’t surprise you. It’s not as if we’re close.”

With that, he shut the door. Greg couldn’t look away from it, dumbfounded by the cold, impersonal way Mort had spoken to his own son. When the man didn’t come back with an apology on his lips, his gaze slowly shifted from the door to his brother. Wirt was stiff, his shoulders hunched up and tense as his chin quivered and his eyes filled with tears. Not one spilled over as he stood there, but Greg wasn’t sure if he was even breathing, so he took a tentative step towards him.

“Wirt?” he asked softly, but he didn’t look at him. “Wirt, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay-”

When he touched his hand, as light as it was, Wirt flinched away and broke. A harsh sob was pulled from his chest, then another, then another. Greg’s breath hitched as his brother covered his face, backing out of the main room and into their shared bedroom. He followed on his heels, climbing onto the bed when Wirt slumped on the edge.

“Wirt?” Greg didn’t know what to do.

“I can’t- I can’t-!” he gasped, dragging his fingers through his hair that he’d spent so long trying to make look nice. “Why did this-? How-?”

“Wirt, it’s okay.” He inched over to him on the bed, noticing that Jason Funderburker hopped over as well, his concern evident.

“I can’t believe I actually thought…” Wirt looked at him and pressed his lips together as his chin quivered, and Greg watched as the tears finally spilled over. “It was stupid. I should’ve known that he wouldn’t actually- I can’t believe I thought this _meant_ something!”

His shoulders shook and his breathing was panicked. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed, curling up on the hotel bed in the smallest ball his body could manage. It made Greg feel like crying, too.

“I’m sorry, Wirt,” he told him, fists balled up at his sides as he wracked his brain for some idea of what to do, how to help him. “Don’t cry.”

Greg placed his palm on his back, rubbing gently but Wirt jerked away. “Leave me alone!”

“But Wirt-”

“Go away, Greg! I just want- I just want to be alone, okay? Please, just leave me alone!”

“Okay,” Greg replied quietly, crawling off the bed. “Okay, I’ll leave you alone.”

Another broken sound was all he received as a reply. Greg grabbed their frog, since being alone probably meant no frogs either, and carried him into the living room. He set him down on the couch, then turned to go back and ask if Wirt wanted to door shut or not. Just as he faced it, it slammed shut and he heard the lock click followed by a frustrated cry.

Greg sniffled, tears starting to pool in his eyes. How had this gone so wrong so fast? Wirt had been so happy and then…

He sat down on the couch, turning up the volume on the TV for Jason Funderburker. The frog croaked forlornly and Greg gave him a pat on the head.

“Wirt will be okay, Jason Funderburker,” he assured him. “He’s The Pilgrim. He won’t let this keep him down.”

But Wirt didn’t leave the bedroom all morning. Greg tried the knob a couple of times, but it stayed locked and his brother didn’t answer his calls. Even though he was mostly worried, he was also getting hungry and figured Wirt had to be, too. Lunch was fast approaching, and it had been a while since his brother had shut him out for this long a time. He wanted to call their mom, to ask her what to do, but he wasn’t sure how to call from the hotel phone and Wirt’s cell phone didn’t work in Paris.

As noon passed, with him debating what to do next, the door opened - not Wirt’s, but the one to outside - and Mort stepped in. He appeared surprised to see him, as if he didn’t expect Greg to be sitting on the couch still. _Well where else would I be?_ he thought huffily. Mort glanced around the room quickly.

“Where’s Wirt?” he asked, when he didn’t spy him right away.

Greg heard the bathroom door close beyond their bedroom door, then the water started running. “He’s in our room,” he replied coolly. “Why are you back? I thought you had clients to meet?”

Mort frowned at him, closing the door behind him. “I worked out some time so I could come back to have lunch with you. I’ve only got an hour, but we can grab something in one of the restaurants downstairs-”

“I don’t think Wirt and I are gonna go with you.”

He looked apologetic for a second, but then his eyes had narrowed and he crossed the room to bang his fist on the door. “Wirt! Come out here right now! You’re being childish!”

“Leave him alone! He doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now!” Greg ran over to him, pulling him away from their bedroom. “Especially you! How could you say stuff like that to him? You’re supposed to be his dad! You’re supposed to love him and want to spend time with him!”

“Don’t tell me how I’m supposed to feel!” Mort whirled on him. “You’re a child! You know nothing of the history between Wirt, your mother, and myself!”

“I know Mom left you because you were a terrible dad and made Wirt feel terrible about himself all the time,” Greg retorted, hands on his hips.

“That boy’s excessive insecurities are his own doing! He’s always been like this! Insufferable, self-absorbed, inconsiderate of others’ time and the things they need to do-!”

“He is not! He’s really nice and super considerate and all he ever wants to do is be a better person for other people and doesn’t even see any of that in himself because you made him see only the bad things! The things he got from you!”

“Don’t talk to me like that, boy!”

“You’re not _my_ dad! I can talk to you however I want! You’re rude and selfish and all you like to do is hurt people and-!”

Greg didn’t even see it coming. There was a blur and then a loud smack. His cheek stung, throbbed, burned, a whole bunch of different kinds of pain that he couldn’t really made sense of, but it was the stinging that lingered. He gingerly touched his cheek. It was hot and even the lightest of brushes hurt. Greg stared up at Mort, the man gazing down at him, horrified.

He took a step back, then another, then turned on his heel and basically ran for his briefcase. “Order room service. Do whatever you want,” he muttered, unable to look at him as he fled out the door.

The hotel room was silent except for the water still running in the bathroom.

Greg’s face still hurt, but he couldn’t cry about it. He didn’t really know how to feel about it. So he focused on how Wirt was feeling. He knocked lightly on the bedroom door, pressing his ear against it.

“Wirt?” he called out, and his voice sounded funny to his ears. “Wirt, he’s gone now. It’s okay.”

Wirt didn’t answer him, but the water stopped. He didn’t come out either, so after a while Greg shuffled back to the couch where Jason Funderburker immediately curled up in his lap. His face still hurt. He didn’t know what to do about that, so he watched TV.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but the show had changed by the time Wirt opened the door. His eyes were still teary and red-rimmed, his face blotchy from crying, and his hair was a mess, but he was trying to smile for him. He rubbed his arm through the sleeve of his sweater, then went over to the desk in the room.

“Sorry about all that, Greg,” he apologized, rifling through a drawer.

“It’s okay,” Greg answered, watching him out of the corner of his eye. “He hurt your feelings.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not the first time. It’s just been a while since he’s made me feel like that, you know?” His voice broke a little, betraying the cheerful, nonchalant facade with devastation. “Anyway, are you hungry? Let’s order the most expensive things from room service. Charge it all to the room.” He flashed him a weak smile over his shoulder. “You can order whatever you want.”

“Okay. Sounds good.” Greg nodded, going back to watching television.

Wirt nodded, too, then pulled the hotel menu out from the desk and brought it over to him. “I’ll try and translate for y-”

His brother froze. Greg blinked and looked away from the screen, meeting his gaze. Wirt’s mouth hung open, his eyes impossibly wide, and his face had paled as he gaped at him. He darted in front of him, dropping to his knees as his hands went to Greg’s shoulders to turn him so they were face to face. Wirt’s hands were shaking. He lifted one to his cheek, the one that still stung and felt tight and puffy at the same time. Greg couldn’t help flinching, it hurt to be touched, and Wirt recoiled immediately.

“Greg,” he breathed, gasping with each word that spilled from him. “Greg, no. No, no, no. Oh no. I’m _sorry_.”

“It’s not your fault,” he told him.

“How could I let this happen? Are you okay? Did he hurt you anywhere else?” Wirt patted him down even as Greg shook his head.

“No. It’s okay, Wirt. It didn’t even hurt that bad. I was mostly surprised.”

“No, no, it’s not okay! He does _not_ get to touch you!” Wirt smoothed back Greg’s hair and cupped his uninjured cheek while his gaze lingered on the other side of his face. “Ice. I’m gonna get you some ice. Oh, wait.”

He hurried to the mini fridge in the kitchenette and pulled out a bottle of wine. He wrapped it in a paper towel, then brought it over to him and held it against his cheek. It felt pretty good after a few seconds. Greg could breathe easier with his brother there now, his thoughts not so sticky and stuttering in his head.

“How’s that?” Wirt asked.

“Better.” Greg gave his brother a pat on the cheek. “Isn’t everything in that fridge a million dollars or something if you move it?”

“Who cares. I’ll take everything out of that fridge and pour it down the sink.”

“Wirt,” he sighed. “He didn’t mean to.”

“Didn’t mean to? Greg, don’t make excuses for him!” Wirt glared through his tears, anger settling in.

He shook his head. “But he didn’t! It was my fault, too, I was yelling at him and calling him mean things because he upset you-”

“No. No, he is an _adult_ , Greg. He should know better than to hit anyone. Especially a child. _Especially_ a child who isn’t even his! He does not get to hit _you_ and walk away from that!”

Greg’s eyes widened. “Did he ever hit you?”

Wirt ceased his tirade, the fury fading to give way to a more perplexed expression. “I… no. No I don’t think so. Not that I can remember.”

“Wirt…”

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t, Greg. Like, ninety-five percent sure. I never fought back, so I don’t think he ever felt the need to.” He looked at him sternly. “But this isn’t about me. It’s about you.”

“Wirt, I’m fine now. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.” He pushed the wine bottle away and gave him his best smile, then made a fist. “I only wish that I’d been able to give him the ol’ one-two or a good kickeroo before he left.”

It didn’t make him smile the way he’d hoped. “Greg, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t hit me. And if he never hit you, then you didn’t know that he would.”

Wirt shook his head, pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead. “I’m your big brother, I’m supposed to look after you and I was too caught up in myself to even-”

“You were upset ‘cause your dad’s a jerk and ruined your birthday,” Greg defended. “You should get to be alone in your room and cry about that. If it’s not my fault that he hit me, then it’s not your fault either. It’s his fault.”

Wirt stared at him a long moment, looking even more wounded than when he found out this was a business trip. “C’mere,” he murmured, moving to sit on the couch and drew him into his arms. “You’re right. It is his fault.”

“I’m always right,” Greg replied, snuggling against him while Wirt squeezed him tightly. “So don’t feel bad, Wirt. It’s still your birthday and we shouldn’t let your dad ruin that. Let’s order room service and have a big, birthday lunch and then I’ll take you to the museums. We’ll go see them without your dumb ol’ dad.”

Wirt nuzzled the top of his head. “I don’t know about that. But we’ll definitely do the room service. After that though…” He pulled back to look him in the eyes. “After that we’re going home. We’re not staying here with him. I’m taking you home.”

“How? Why? Wirt, there’s still so much you wanted to see!”

“I’ll see it some other time. You and I can come back someday and see it all, but right now none of that matters, okay? All I want to do today is get a ticket straight home.”

“How are we gonna do that? We already have tickets home for Friday.”

“Leave that to me.”

-0-

They found out where Mort was meeting his clients and with suitcases in hand and a frog tucked under Greg’s arm, they walked right on in. There were a lot of different floors with different businesses, but Wirt knew where he was going and he went there with purpose. He walked right up to the front desk with zero hesitation. Greg was pretty impressed when he cleared his throat for the attendant’s attention and kept his shoulders straight when she glanced up.

“Do you speak English?” he asked first, then when she nodded he continued, “I’m here to see Mr. Palmer. Can you please let him know?”

“I’m afraid Mr. Palmer’s engaged in a discussion with the board right now,” she responded, her gaze shifting between the two of them as if she’d never seen children before. “Would you like to leave a message?”

“No. Please tell him his son is here and he needs to speak with him. Now. It’s urgent,” Wirt told her seriously.

She hesitated, but dialed the number for whatever conference room they were using and waited. “There’s someone here to see Mr. Palmer. He says he’s his son and that it’s urgent. Alright.” She hung up and addressed the two of them. “He’ll be out shortly. Please have a seat.”

“No thanks. We won’t be here long.”

They weren’t. Greg felt Wirt’s grip tighten around his hand as Mort Palmer strode into the room. While he was attempting to look annoyed, Greg could see that it was mostly to mask the worry and embarrassment that rippled across his features. They stared at each other for a moment before Mort nodded at Wirt.

“What seems to be the problem, son? I’m pretty busy at the moment-”

“Don’t even pretend like you don’t know why I’m here,” Wirt interrupted, glowering at him.

Mort was taken aback. “Wirt, I’m… Son, I’m sorry-”

“I’m not the one you need to be apologizing to,” he scoffed. “But that’s not why we’re here either. We don’t need your apologies. We need two plane tickets to Boston. For today.”

“What- Wirt, we already have tickets for Friday-”

“Yeah, I’m not staying here with you another second let alone another four days.”

Color crept up Mort’s neck and into his face and he looked absolutely livid. “Do not make a scene out here,” he hissed, glancing back at the attendant. “Let’s talk this out somewhere private-”

“No. I’m not going anywhere with you and Greg’s certainly not going anywhere with you.” Wirt held his ground despite the look his dad was giving him. “Buy us two plane tickets home and then we’re out of your hair for the rest of your business trip.”

“I’m not doing that,” Mort replied.

“Then I tell Mom what you did. And she’ll take you to court. Don’t think that she won’t. You know how she is. You looked at me the wrong way once and she divorced you so quickly I don’t even think you had time to blink. What do you think she’ll do when she finds out about this?”

The man paled at that. “Wirt, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me-”

“Own up to your own actions! Oh my gosh, why can’t you do that? Why can’t you accept responsibility for once in your stupid life?” Wirt was losing his patience and visitors were glancing over at them, so Greg squeezed his hand to try and reign him back in. It worked. He took a couple of deep breaths and relaxed his shoulders. “Send us home today and _maybe_ I won’t tell Mom.”

“Wirt-”

“It’s the _least_ you could do.” Wirt’s frown increased. “And you’ve always been so fond of doing the least when it comes to me, so why stop now?”

Mort stared at him for a long moment, then sighed and nodded. For another second, Greg thought he glimpsed true regret in the man’s eyes, but then it was gone and he was gesturing to the woman at the desk to let him have access to the computer. Wirt’s hands shook a little when he realized that he’d won, so Greg stayed close to him while Mort purchased their tickets.

“What are you going to tell your mother?” he asked, printing the boarding passes.

“I don’t know. I’ve got a seven hour flight to figure that out.” Wirt held his hand out for the papers, glancing at them quickly for their flight time and gate number before folding it and tucking it in the front pocket of his suitcase. “I’ll also need money for the cab to the airport.”

Mort forked it over without complaint. “Are you sure about this?” was all he asked.

“Never been more sure of anything in my life. Enjoy your business trip. See you in another eight years.” Wirt pocketed the money, took Greg’s hand and his suitcase, then led him out of the room and out the building and out onto the street.

They stopped suddenly, as soon as the street noises and bustling people registered with them. Greg looked up at Wirt. His brother still appeared stoic and firm, but it was…

It was breaking.

“Wirt,” he started, but he shook his head.

“Not now, Greg. I need- I need to get us to the airport and on the plane and then- and then I can- let’s just go, okay? Let’s get a cab.”

“Okay.”

Wirt kept himself together during the entire drive to the airport, all through checking in their bags and security and until they found their terminal. Since his cell phone still didn’t work and they found a payphone close by. Boston was still an hour away from their house, they needed someone to come pick them up. Wirt called home, staying strong and brave until the second Greg heard their mom’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Mom-” Wirt got out, then started to cry. “Mom, we’re coming home. I can’t do this. We’re coming home, can you please pick us up when we get there?”

Greg couldn’t hear her reply over Wirt’s sniffles and hiccups, not full-out sobs since they were still in public and his brother was very conscious of the stares they were already garnering. He was sure that she agreed though, especially when Wirt thanked her with a croak, gave her the time of their expected arrival, and said, “See you soon,” before hanging up.

Then Greg led him to the bathroom so he could cry with as much privacy as possible. They did have a while to wait for their flight after all.

-0-

There was a place that sold the macarons Wirt had liked so much in the airport, so before they got on the plane, Greg made him get a box for himself. They nibbled on it during the flight, Greg promising that it was pre-birthday cake dessert. That made his brother laugh and ruffle his hair and almost go back to normal. They tried to sleep on the flight, but neither of them could manage it. Greg’s cheek still hurt and it was on the side that he liked to sleep on. Wirt let him use him as a pillow though, and read him poetry quietly under his breath.

It was like they went back in time, to start Monday all over again when they arrived in Boston. Their mom and his dad were waiting for them when they landed. Wirt was immediately pulled into a tight hug by their mom and he hid his face against her while he shook his head in response to the soft questions she murmured to him.

“It was a business trip, Mom. He brought me as an afterthought.”

“Oh, sweetheart.”

“Hey, buddy.” His dad opened his arms to Greg while Wirt was coddled, the concern and love shining on his face making his heart twist tightly. Not all dads were like his.

Greg hugged him tightly and let him pick him up. “I love you, Dad,” he told him and his dad squeezed him a little like he knew exactly what he was talking about.

“I love you, too, Greg.” He kissed his forehead, then glimpsed his cheek. “What happened to your face?”

“I got really excited around those doors that spin around and around at the hotel and I hit my face on it,” Greg told him.

Even if Wirt intended to go back on the deal he’d made with his dad, even if he had said ‘maybe,’ Greg wasn’t going to be the one to throw him under the bus. Even if he deserved it. He deserved a lot of bad things for treating Wirt the way he did, but he wasn’t going to take that hurt away from his brother. The pain in his cheek would fade and then it would be gone and there’d be no trace of it left. But the pain in Wirt’s heart wouldn’t. It was trying, had been trying for a long time, and someday it would, but it wasn’t something that would bruise and heal in a matter of days.

Greg watched as his dad went to hug Wirt next, happy to see his big brother accept it and take comfort in the love he had to give him. At least he had that. Greg was more than happy to share his dad with Wirt.

“Mom.” Greg tugged on her arm for her attention. “We have to get a birthday cake for Wirt since he’s here for his birthday!”

“We’ve got it already taken care of,” she replied with a smile, though when she looked at his cheek he could tell she maybe didn’t quite believe his revolving door story. Greg wondered yet again if Wirt had ever been hit, even if it was on accident like with him. “There’s cake waiting at home.”

“Oh boy!” Greg grinned, then ran up to his brother. “You hear that, Wirt? I told you that you’d get cake!”

He smiled a little, then picked him up. “Yeah, you did, Greg.”

“We should invite Sara over! And everyone else!”

“The more the merrier,” his dad agreed, helping Wirt with their suitcases while their mom took Jason Funderburker from Greg’s sweatshirt. “If you’re feeling up to it, kiddo. It’s okay if you don’t.”

Wirt nodded a little, leaning into the touch to his shoulder. “Yeah. Yeah, I think that might be a good idea.”

“Of course it is!” Greg piped up. “It’s my idea and all my ideas are good ones!”

Their parents laughed, leading them through the airport to the parking lot. Their small, puzzle of a family, pieced together to fit better than what Wirt had before. Even if they didn’t understand architecture or interior design all that much. Wirt didn’t seem to mind.

-0-

Two days later, the doorbell rang.

“I got it, I got it!” Greg hollered, running through the house.

He flung open the door, took one look at who was standing there, then slammed it shut.

“Goodbye,” he told the door, then turned to walk away.

“Gregory,” his mom reprimanded, getting up from the couch to see who was there for herself. “Don’t be rude-”

When she opened the door, Greg could tell she also wanted to slam it shut. Mortimer Palmer stood on their doorstep and Greg wished that a bolt of lightning would split the sky and an organ would pipe out its ominous timbre at the sight of him so everyone would know he was a bad man.

“What do you want?” His mom crossed her arms, straightening to her full height as he glared at him.

Mort glanced down at Greg, then at his ex-wife. “I would like to speak with Wirt.”

“No,” Greg and his mom replied in unison.

“You’ve done enough damage,” she continued, moving to close the door.

“Gregory, I’m sorry-”

“Don’t say sorry to me, say sorry to Wirt,” he returned, lifting his chin high. “Except you can’t, ‘cause we’re not gonna let you see him. So bye.”

“Dad?”

Their mom froze, leaving the door open just enough for Wirt to be able to see Mort standing on their front porch. For a moment, she and Greg just watched him watch his dad, noting the fresh betrayal, the confusion, and ultimately the conflict. Brow furrowing, Greg tried to close the door, but it wouldn’t budge in his mom’s grip.

“What are you doing here?” Wirt asked, taking a step closer. “What about your business trip? Your client?”

Mort bowed his head, actually having the decency to look guilty. “I told them something came up and I needed to… be there for my son. They understood and we rescheduled. My boss didn’t like it, of course, and his boss even less, but… it’ll work out. I needed to apologize to you properly. I should have told you the reason behind the trip in the first place.”

“Yeah. You should’ve.” Wirt crossed his arms.

“And I shouldn’t have fought with your brother. I’m very sorry, Wirt.”

Wirt’s gaze flicked to Greg and he shrugged a little in response, then made a fist. He’d fight Mort again, any time and any place for his big brother. The sentiment seemed to be adequately conveyed because there was a tiny flash of a smile in his eyes before he looked back at his dad.

“Not a chance I’m forgiving you for picking a fight with a seven-year-old, but I’ll acknowledge your apology. Thanks,” he replied, sounding stiff and diplomatic. “Anything else?”

For a moment, no one said anything. Their mom had opened the door a little wider, impressed by how Wirt was handling himself, and Greg stayed perfectly positioned between estranged father and son, as if he could shield his brother from any other terrible things Mort might have to dish out. The man observed Wirt quietly, then nodded a little to himself.

“You’ve grown up,” he mused.

“Oh, you noticed? Well, it has been eight years. Maybe if you’d actually stuck around after the divorce-”

Mort shook his head. “It was better for you that I didn’t. For both of us. Your mother… Amelia,” he hesitated and looked to their mom. “You were right.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Well, there are three words I never thought I’d hear you say.”

“And you probably won’t ever hear them again.” He relaxed some when her lips quirked up.

“That’s probably a good thing. I might have to have you committed otherwise,” she replied.

He nodded, then met Wirt’s gaze once more. “I’m not the kind of man that should be a father. I’m not a ‘dad.’ I never wanted to be. But that doesn’t change the fact that I am yours. I’m not good at it, not in the slightest, and I’ve made many mistakes that I can never unmake. But… I would like to… to make amends. I’d like to take you for that birthday dinner, if you’ll let me.”

It was Greg’s turn to raise his eyebrow, staring at the man as if he’d grown another head. Actually that would’ve been really cool to see, so he probably wouldn’t have looked so stern and flabbergasted. But that wasn’t the point. The point was Mort had to be completely cuckoo if he thought Wirt was going to give him a second chance. He looked to his brother, awaiting his judgment, expecting it, only to find that Wirt was honestly considering it.

His brother pursed his lips and shuffled his feet, brow creasing as he looked at him. Then his eyes widened, just a bit and not really enough to notice, and his gaze shifted to Greg. The look on his face was one he’d become familiar with over the past year. _I’m trying to be better. Please give me the chance to be better._ It went without question that he give him that chance. Greg couldn’t imagine not giving it to him because he loved him and he’d never done anything wrong.

Not the way Mort had. He and Wirt were nothing like Wirt and his dad. Surely his brother knew that.

“Just dinner? At a normal restaurant? For a normal birthday?” Wirt clarified, finally fixing his dad with a stare that wasn’t quite trusting, but didn’t condemn him either.

“Well, I wouldn’t call it a normal birthday… it’s not every day a young man turns sixteen.”

Wirt snorted, shaking his head. He sighed once, looking from his dad to their mom to Greg, then sighed again. Greg wanted to take a step towards him, but their mom beat him to it and placed her hand on his arm. She gave him a gentle squeeze and an even gentler smile.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” she told him. “Whatever you want to do, no matter what that is, that’s the decision you should make. Okay? Just think about what you want.”

He nodded shakily. “Okay. Okay, I’ll… We’ll have dinner. That’s… that’s what we’ll do.”

“Wirt, are you sure?” Greg blinked at him.

“Yeah.” He offered him a nervous smile, but it was a smile nonetheless, and walked over to ruffle his hair. “Yeah. Who am I to say no to second chances?” he murmured only for him to hear.

“Technically Paris was his second chance,” Greg whispered back, grinning when Wirt laughed. “But if you want to give him another one, then I’m behind you one hundred percent, brother o’ mine. You can always count on me to be on your side.”

“I know.” His gaze flicked to his cheek, then back to his eyes and he smiled. “You can count on me, too.”

“I know,” he mimicked. “Just call Mom if you need me to come rescue you, okay?”

“Will do, brother o’ mine,” Wirt agreed, offering him a salute.

Greg delivered one back, then stepped aside so that Wirt could have access to the front door. Both he and Mort appeared hesitant, but it was the man’s uncharacteristic demeanor that got Wirt to step out onto the porch. They took the steps down, then walked to where a rental car was parked on the street. Greg wanted to keep watching, but his mom closed the door behind them. She looked nervous, worried, but just the tiniest bit hopeful still. She still hoped for them.

She glanced down at him and managed to smile, then turned back to the living room to return to the couch. Greg waited until she sat down before going to the front window. He pushed back the curtains and pressed his hands and face to the glass. His brother and Mort were saying something over the roof of the car, then they seemed to agree on something and both slid into their respective seats.

Second chances were important, Greg supposed as he watched the car pull into the road and drive away, but Mort Palmer was going to have to watch himself whenever he was around Wirt with Greg nearby. And that was a rock fact.


End file.
